


A Bullshit Tale, Part the Second; The Blight: Loghain

by dragonmactir



Series: A Bullshit Tale [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Mass Confusion, Too many characters, Winter/Spring romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmactir/pseuds/dragonmactir
Summary: In this part, Loghain is alive and almost well.  He "follows" Warden Cousland on her journey through Ferelden and Orzammar to gather recruits and armies against the darkspawn, making suggestions of his own along the way.  There are some oddities about the man, nothing major, nothing we haven't seen before in Part the First.  Romance abounds as the Warden keeps digging away with her innuendos and flirts!  Will she hit rock bottom, or will he give in to temptation?PART TWO and PART THREE run concurrently.





	1. Chapter 1

“General, if you are truly set on leaving, then I’m going with you.” Cauthrien was adamant.  Stubborn.  Identical to him in terms of personality, in fact, if far prettier in feature.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

_“No.”_

“Why not?”

 

“Because the Shield needs its Commander.”

 

“And doesn’t the entire army need its General, then, also?”

 

He clapped his big hands on her shoulders and shook her once gently. “They can live without me for the time being.  They have enough Commanders to suffice as long as they have good people like _you.”_

 

“Why do _you_ have to go?  Anora is wrong to send you away.”

 

“Anora is right. I’m upsetting the nobles.  She needs time to calm things down.  Time without me.  And I’ll be getting things done, things I probably wouldn’t be able to get done with noblemen in the way.  Don’t worry about me, my dear.  I’ll be back, safe and sound, before you know it.”

 

“It would help if I knew something about your itinerary,” she said, dark brows furrowed.

 

“Ha! It would help me, too.  But I don’t think the Warden _has_ an itinerary, as such.  Don’t worry, I’ll help her get straightened out.  Somehow I think she’s just being pulled in too many directions at once.  I know how that feels for a young person who never thought they’d get thrown into a situation where they’re expected to lead.”

 

“I still think I should come with you,” Cauthrien said.

 

“And I still know that the Shield needs you more. There is no one else I trust with the job.”

 

She heaved a deep breath. “All right.  I understand.  I will stay and do my duty.”

 

“Good. I knew I could count on you, my girl.  And… if and when you can… keep an eye on Anora for me?  Not that I expect her not to be able to look after herself, as you know, just… you know…”

 

She nodded. “Try and keep the wolves off her.  Yes, I know.”

 

“Thank you, dear. Sorry to put that kind of weight on you, especially in addition to what you’re already carrying.”

 

“It’s all right, Father.”

 

He kissed her on the brow, then stepped back and saluted. “All right.  I’ve got to go get this ragtag band in order, see that they have horses and supplies.  This is going to empty my stable.  Do you know I have to find a suitable horse for a qunari?  I don’t even know what _constitutes_ a suitable horse for a qunari.  I’ve never met one, I don’t know how big they are except through rumor and hearsay.  The Warden doesn’t seem to be any great help to me.  She doesn’t want me to give her any horses in the first place and her descriptions of her comrades are vague in the extreme.  She just says the bastard is ‘big.’  Won’t even tell me what sort of armor he wears.”

 

“She doesn’t want horses? Why ever not?”

 

“She doesn’t want ‘charity.’ _I_ say I don’t want our little excursion to take three fucking years.  Well, I’d better get to it.  It’s a long way to go to her campsite, horses or no, and her companions may have already given her up for dead.  If we’re going to find them before we have to make camp for the night we have to get moving.”

 

Cauthrien gave him a hug and a kiss and bowed herself out after a formal salute of her own. Loghain returned to filling his pack with the few things he’d need for an extended journey that he hadn’t left up to his servants to pack for him.  His map of Ferelden, completely memorized but still necessary just in case, a few spare weapons, extra socks and smallclothes.  Finished, he geared himself in his plate and primary weapons, shouldered his pack, and headed for the stables.

 

He was still saddling up his favorite mount, a silver-grey charger of no particular breeding he affectionately dubbed “Stew-Bone,” when the others of his party began to arrive. The elven cousins, Loghain Tabris and red-headed Shianni, were first on the scene, wide-eyed and severely out of their element, much as they’d been when they arrived at the estate just in time for dinner, to which they’d found themselves promptly invited.  Loghain finished checking his preparations and handed Stew-Bone’s reins to a stable hand and went to meet them.

 

“I suppose you two don’t know how to ride,” he said.

 

“We’ve… never had the opportunity, no,” Tabris said, shaking his head.

 

“I’ve got a couple of Ferelden Forders that are nice and gentle, shouldn’t give you any trouble. Here, let me introduce you to them.  They’re right over here in the stalls.  This one is Glue-Pot, and this one here is Dog-Meat,” he said, showing them a pair of dark brown horses with reassuringly calm brown eyes.

 

“Why such horrible names?” Shianni said. “They’re beautiful creatures.”

 

“Any animal that runs afoul of me runs the risk of a horrible name,” Loghain said. “It’s just my way.”

 

“Which one do you want, Cousin?” Shianni asked, stroking Dog Meat’s nose.

 

“Well, it looks like you’ve already forged a bond with that one, so I’ll take this one. Glue-Pot, right?” Tabris said, giving the other horse a few gentle pats.

 

“I can’t call this poor horse ‘Dog-Meat,’” Shianni said. “I’m going to call her… ‘Majesty.’”

 

“Call her whatever you like, but don’t call her ‘her,’” Loghain said. _“She_ is a gelding.  A former _‘him.’”_

 

“Oh. Well.  ‘Majesty’ might be a little too _royal_ for a castrated horse, eh?” Shianni said.  “How about… ‘Buddy’ instead.  He looks like a Buddy.”

 

“Ooph. Demoted, there, Buddy,” Loghain said, giving the horse a pat on the neck.  “Don’t feel bad about it.  It’s still better than Dog-Meat, eh?”

 

Zevon showed up, with his pack on one shoulder and his guitar on the other, held by a strap. “Zevon.  Can you ride?” Loghain asked.

 

“Fairly well. I wouldn’t put me at the head of a mounted charge, my Lord, but I can hold my own at a trot or a canter,” Zevon said.

 

“Good, I’m running out of first-time rider-friendly horses. You can have ‘Yellow Snow’ here,” Loghain said, leading a lean white horse with a yellowish tint to certain places in his coat out of a stall.  “He’s friendly, and generally gentle, but he’s got a touch of attitude to him, so you’ve got to know something of what you’re doing when you ride him, but it doesn’t take an expert horseman.”

 

“What sort of horse is that, Ser?” Zevon asked. “Any particular breed, my Lord?”

 

“Orlesian Courser. He’s a gelding.  I don’t breed Orlesian Coursers.  Oddly enough, not so much because they’re Orlesian but because they’re generally unsuitable for me.  I need bigger, stronger horses for carrying men in plate armor.  But he should do well enough for you.”

 

“If you don’t like Orlesian Coursers, why do you have one?” Shianni asked.

 

“Because I found him in a bad place. Someone had him who didn’t know how to keep a horse properly.  He was starving, filthy… and there was no cause for any of it.  His owner wasn’t too poor to care for him.  I took him away and gave him a proper home.”

 

As the rest of the party arrived, suitable horses were found for all of them. The Warden grumbled but accepted the reins of the Amaranthine Charger he handed over to her, stepped into the saddle with practiced ease, and gave the horse an affectionate pat when she thought no one was looking.

 

“Well, if this is the best you have, I suppose it will do,” she said haughtily, as they all mounted up behind her. “I hope they can all keep step.  It’s a ragtag bunch, here.”

 

“They can keep up,” Loghain said. He grunted and grinned.  “If we make a stop by Gwaren we can trade off for some Landhammers.  I breed them there.  Don’t have many.  Less is more, with those things.”

 

“Landhammers?”

 

“Better seen than described, my dear. Shall we go, then?  The evening does not linger for such as we.”

 

“Maybe we should leave in the morning? It’s really quite late,” Hawke said.

 

“We’ll make good time with these horses. If we don’t make the Warden’s friends tonight before we have to camp then we should be able to overtake them before they get far from us tomorrow.  If they haven’t given up already, they won’t wait for the Warden much longer,” Loghain said.

 

“I have a name, you know,” the Warden said. _“Elilia.”_

 

“Hurry along, Warden. Time waits for no one,” Loghain said, and mounted Stew-Bone.  “Come on.  We’ll make for quite a party, leaving the city, especially with the extra horses.”

 

“We could’ve just walked,” the Warden said, with a toss of the head, its effectiveness lessened by the fact that her long hair was suppressed by her griffon-wing helmet.

 

“And we might still be walking while Denerim falls to the darkspawn,” Loghain said. “I’ll not take that chance, Warden.  Now I’ll put it in terms perhaps you’ll understand better than any I’ve used heretofore: Shut.  Your. _Pie-hole.”_

 

 _“Hmph!”_ she said, but quieted.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that the Teyrn of Gwaren rode at the head of their party, the guard might well have hassled them on the way through town. It certainly wasn’t every day that so many people and so many horses went walking through Denerim.  The mercenary companies that occasionally passed through were made to stable their mounts at the edges of town, and the nobles that resided in the city in winter rarely rode through the middle of the city en force.  Loghain, however, was known for not acting like anyone else, and it was certain that Anora had sent word ahead to the city guard.  They were not bothered.

 

They kept the horses to a walk, so the uncertain riders could get accustomed to the saddle. The Warden rode in front at a slow trot, leading the others, because she knew where she had left her people, and where they hopefully still were.  They encountered no problems and the road was clear, and by the time the sun set they came to the place where the Warden’s encampment was meant to be.  Elilia pulled up her horse and dismounted.

 

“Let me talk to them first, all right?” she said. “I don’t want to just spring you on them.  Alistair would have a heart attack.  Let me talk to them and kind of smooth things over before you come popping out of the sunset like a small army.  Alistair… really isn’t going to like… well… he isn’t going to like this.”

 

“I don’t give a damn,” Loghain said.

 

“Neither do I,” the Warden said. “But I’d still like as little stress and male posturing as possible.  Just let me talk to him.”

 

“All right, just make it fast. These people need to be situated, and the horses need rest,” Loghain said.

 

The Warden pushed through the bush to the clearing where she hoped her friends were still camped. She smelled the smoke from the campfire, so her hopes were high.  When she came out at the edge of camp, Alistair scrambled to his feet and came to greet her.

 

“Maker! I never thought I’d see you again!  Did you have to fight your way out?  You did, didn’t you?”

 

“No, no I didn’t, Al. Listen, I said I would try to get some official help?  Well, I got some.  But not exactly the kind I was expecting.”

 

“You got us help? So… what, then?  Is the bounty off our heads?  Is Loghain dead?  That would be wonderful, if Loghain were dead.  Although I would _really_ regret not being able to kill him myself.”

 

“The bounty is off our heads. But Loghain is not dead.  Loghain is our help.  He and a few of his friends.”

 

Alistair stopped short and stared at her with confusion in the depths of his guileless hazel-green eyes. “You mean… you brought him with you?  He’s _here?”_

 

“On the road just outside of camp.”

 

“You brought that traitorous bastard _here?”_

 

“Lower your voice, Alistair. His hearing has proved to be very keen.”

 

Leliana came over. “This is a good thing, Alistair.  His experience will be a great asset the party.”

 

“He _killed_ our _King!”_

 

“That was a demon, Al. He wasn’t even in the battle at Ostagar, he was tied up and unconscious the whole time.  He’s lucky he survived at all, just as we are,” the Warden said.

 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Alistair said.

 

“The nobles and the Queen herself all saw the demon reveal itself when he came back.”

 

“But how did a demon get control in the first place?” Alistair said. “An Envy demon has to get into your head to learn about you, and it does that either through control or through _consent_.  It takes a long time, so if he wasn’t bound and gagged for months, then he must’ve been in on it from the beginning.”

 

“Maybe you don’t know as much about demons as you think you know, Templar- _trainee,”_ the Warden said.  “You’re not going to make trouble, Al.  Sit down and shut up.  We need this.  Think of it as a training exercise.  ‘How to get along with people you hate.’”

 

He plopped onto his splintmail-coated ass by the fire and pouted. The Warden returned to the road and led the group to the camp.  Introductions were made.  Leliana smiled and greeted everyone with Orlesian effusiveness.  Loghain was predictably rude.

 

“You never said your minstrel was a fucking Orlesian bard, Warden,” he said, ignoring Leliana’s cheerful and courteous greeting completely.

 

“Actually, she’s a lay sister in the Chantry,” the Warden said. “What she may have been before that is immaterial.”

 

“You’re rather foolish, girl, if you really think that.”

 

“I was only raised in Orlais, Lord Loghain,” Leliana said, nervous now. “I was _born_ a Fereldan girl.”

 

“Even if that little tale is true, how you’re raised is all that matters.”

 

“I understand your mistrust, but I hope we will be able to get past this, and become comrades, my Lord,” Leliana said. Loghain merely gave her a cold stare and said nothing.  She dropped her gaze and executed a curtsey and backed away to her side of the fire.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the haunted Brecilian and some more very frank discussion. "Porcelain Monkey" by Warren Zevon, used without permission, altered without authorization. The song is originally about Elvis Pressley, but after discovering the "Velvet Cailan" in DAII's Black Emporium and the resultant codex entry, it was easy enough to alter the song to fit the current circumstances of my story. Sorry, heirs of Warren Zevon. I didn't make any money off of it, I swear.

The elves built their own campfire, further away from the main, not so far away as Morrigan’s fire, but in the opposite direction. Loghain also laid out his tent and bedroll further from the main campfire, actually closer to the elves’ campfire and the place where the horses stood tethered.  Perhaps he was standing guard over his horses.  In the morning, over breakfast, he asked about the Warden’s first proposed point of business.

 

“Well, I figure we should go to the Circle. That’ll be the easiest,” she said.

 

“Not the closest,” Loghain said. “We’re right on the edge of the Brecilian forest.  That’s the most logical place in Ferelden to look for Dalish, if you really want to recruit the Dalish for this foreign army you’re building.  From there, we could swing down to Gwaren and pick up the remains of my Regulars and perhaps any of the refugees that fled there that still have any backbone left, and then skirt the edges of the Korcari Wilds to find remnants of the Chasind, dispossessed of their lands by the darkspawn and looking for revenge.”

 

“I don’t have treaties with the Chasind,” the Warden said.

 

“Maybe we won’t need them. It’s worth a shot, at least.  We will be in the general area, and then we can swing up Kinloch Hold way.”

 

“With a stop at Redcliffe,” the Warden said. “Cailan never called up Arl Eamon’s army.  His reinforcements would be very handy for the Queen.”

 

“Yes, he’ll come along so very readily,” Loghain said, with a roll of the eyes. “He has such a _wonderful_ relationship with Her Majesty and I.”

 

“What do you mean?” the Warden asked.

 

“Eamon… is a… how shall I put this diplomatically? A _prig_.  He’s a staunch traditionalist, who does not believe that peasants should hold titles, forgetting that all nobles were, at their furthest root, common people themselves.  He could never get past the fact that Maric married his son to a _common-born_ woman, and was never shy about voicing his opinion -- to Anora’s face, in fact.”

 

“Oh. Well.  What an asshole,” the Warden said.

 

“You’re wrong. Arl Eamon is not like that,” Alistair said, fairly choking on his porridge.  “He’s a _good_ man.  He _raised_ me, I know better.”

 

“You slept in the mabari kennels, at least until the pups were of imprinting age, at which point you were hustled to the farmyard to sleep with the pigs,” Loghain said, snappishly. “And that was _before_ he married that Orlesian bitch that made your life a living hell.”

 

“Well, I didn’t see _you_ stepping up to make things any better for me!” Alistair shouted.

 

“If your father had any sense at all, you _would’ve_ been my Ward!  And you most certainly wouldn’t be a Grey Warden!”

 

The Warden looked from one to the other of them and back again. _“So…_ you two _know_ each other?”

 

“We’ve never met,” Alistair said, heatedly, and returned to his porridge. Loghain looked at him for a moment longer, then shrugged and returned to his own breakfast without another word said.  The Warden looked at them both, shook her head, and ate her watery gray porridge.  After the meal was done they cleaned up and broke camp and, following Loghain’s suggestion, headed into the forest to seek the Dalish.

 

“Do you know where any Dalish clans might be?” the Warden asked of him.

 

“Not exactly. I do know that there’s typically one or two camped out near Gwaren this time of year in a typical year, but this isn’t exactly a typical year.  Still, if we look we may find something.  They’re likely caught with their pants down just as much as we were, and they have fewer places they feel comfortable making a run for it.”

 

“But, there’s something wrong in the Brecilian,” Hawke said. “You said that yourself.  What if they never even went there?”

 

“Then we’ll be wasting our time. But I doubt it.  The elves don’t seem to worry so much about an angry forest as we humans do.  Perhaps they know how to keep it placated long enough for them to get through it to wherever they’re going,” Loghain said.  “They’re not as afraid of magic as humans are, and they keep mages on hand.”

 

 _“Angry forest,”_ Alistair said.  “What rubbish.”

 

“Yeah, you’ll see,” Hawke said.

 

Deeper into the forest, the more spirited and willful of the horses became more and more agitated. “So I take it this forest isn’t always this dark and nasty?” the Warden said.

 

“Pretty much, actually,” Loghain said, “but this is pushing it, even for the Brecilian.”

 

“Darkspawn? I don’t sense any.”

 

“I doubt it, although maybe the darkspawn incursion has something to do with it. I already told the Hawkes and Aveline, but it’s probably restless spirits.”

 

“Spirits? _Fade_ spirits?” Alistair said.

 

“Typically.”

 

“Shit,” Alistair swore, for the first time in Elilia’s hearing. “Should we really be here?”

 

“Restless spirits are common here. The Veil is thin in the Brecilian.  What are you scared of, Templar?”

 

“How did _you_ know I was a templar?” Alistair said.

 

“Don’t get all hot under the collar, I wasn’t watching you _that_ closely.  Your Warden friend told me.  I didn’t know you were _that_ Alistair until I saw you.  I should murder Eamon.”

 

“It seems well within your character.”

 

“For a boy who was taught he was worth less than his master’s mabari, you’re awfully uppity,” Loghain said.

 

“Kind of like a peasant who rose to nobility and thinks he deserves it,” Alistair said.

 

 _“Alistair!”_ the Warden said.

 

Loghain folded one arm across his saddle horn and peered closely at Alistair. “Are you angry at me for what happened at Ostagar, or simply because your father never claimed you?”

 

“Leave my father out of this,” Alistair said, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.

 

Silence fell. The Warden began to whistle a falsely cheerful tune.  “Nice day for a ride in the country, isn’t it?” she said.  “No secrets, no tantalizing information drops, nothing, no intrigues.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Eli,” Alistair said. “Just drop it for now, all right?  I promise I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Whatever you say, Al.”

 

“How are we going to find wild elves hiding the forest?” Leliana asked. “I would venture to guess they don’t _want_ to be found.”

 

“They don’t, but even the cleverest of hunters leave signs of their passage,” Loghain said. “We’ll find those signs and track them down.”

 

“What sorts of signs are we looking for?” the Warden asked.

 

“Halla tracks, wagon ruts. They clean up behind themselves as they pass but they’re not always thorough enough.”

 

“You’ve tracked them before?” Alistair said. “Why?”

 

“I haven’t, but I’ve seen their tracks while I was out hunting, too faint to have been left as natural. Plus, I’ve spoken to their hunters that come to Gwaren to trade now and then.  They’re not talkative, but they’ll say a word or two once in awhile.”

 

“You just know everything about everything, don’t you?” Alistair said.

 

“The longer you live, my boy, the more you’ll learn,” Loghain said. “And the more you’ll realize you know absolutely nothing.  Now, stop being petulant, child, and try being a man for a change.”

 

“Don’t _treat_ me like a little boy.”

 

“Then don’t _act_ like one.”

 

They found no trace of elves the first day in the forest, so they made camp for the night. Factions divided as they had done the first night, with the elves at their own campfire and Alistair well away from Loghain, who laid out his bedroll near the horses once more.  Hawke’s mabari, Spirit, had made fast friends over the course of the day with the Warden’s hound Kiveal, and they piled up together in one great ball of silver-grey and chestnut fur and slobber.  They ate their dinner of sausages and beans, and then Leliana politely asked Zevon to play.

 

“I love a good Antivan guitar,” she said, smiling.

 

“Well, I have been working on a lyric today. It’s a song I wrote awhile ago, but it needs a little work, still,” Zevon said.  “I don’t know that I should sing it, though.  Mixed audience.”

 

“Go ahead and sing it,” Loghain said. “Who cares what anyone thinks?”

 

“Oh yes, please do,” Leliana said, clapping her hands. “I would love to hear it.”

 

“All right, then, you asked for it,” Zevon said, taking up his guitar and tuning it. The song is called ‘Porcelain Monkey.’  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

_“He was an accident waiting to happen._

_Most accidents happen at home._

_Maybe he shouldn’t go out so often._

_Maybe he should have stayed on the throne._

_“Hip-shaker, shoutin’ in gold lamé._

_That’s how he earned his regal sobriquet._

_Then he threw it all away_

_For a porcelain monkey._

_“He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,_

_Gave it all up for a figurine._

_He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,_

_And his face on velveteen._

_“From a shotgun shack, singin’ Andrastian hymns_

_To the wrought iron gates to the throne room._

_He had a little world, it was smaller than your hand._

_It’s a rockabilly ride from the glitter to the gloom._

_“Left behind by the latest trends,_

_Eatin’ fried chicken with his regicidal friends,_

_That’s how his story ends,_

_With a porcelain monkey._

_“He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,_

_Gave it all up for a figurine._

_He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,_

_And his face on velveteen._

_“Porcelain monkey, a har har har har…_

_“Hip-shaker, shoutin’ in gold lamé._

_That’s how he earned his regal sobriquet._

_Then he threw it all away_

_For a porcelain monkey._

_“He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,_

_Gave it all up for a figurine._

_He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,_

_And his face on velveteen._

_“Porcelain monkey, a har har har har…_

_Porcelain monkey, a hey hey hey hey…_

_A porcelain monkey.”_

Silence, then Leliana began hesitantly to clap. “Oh, that was… very nice.  You are… very talented.”

 

“Was that about Cailan?” Loghain asked. “I don’t know what _‘lamé’_ is, but he did like gold clothing and shaking his ass about like a mandrill, and he did have these gods-awful velveteen paintings done of his face because he thought people were going to just snatch them up like cookies.”

 

Zevon looked down at his lap and strummed a soundless chord on his guitar. “Ahm… yes, that was a song about King Cailan.  Updated to reflect his unfortunate death.  Tinged with some minor references to Good King Maric, to show the dichotomy between father and son.  I’ll never play it again, I swear.”

 

“Will you stop saying that?” Loghain said. “You sing whatever you want to sing.  As to your song, I liked it.  It told the truth, unflinchingly.”

 

“It besmirched our King,” Alistair said. “It was nothing short of treasonous.”

 

“You’re mistaking _freedom of speech,_ the right of every Fereldan, for treason,” Loghain said, staring hard at Alistair.  “He didn’t say ‘take arms against Cailan,’ he said Cailan made mistakes.  He _did._ He couldn’t have foreseen the demon, yet still the last one cost him his life..  Ostagar was a mistake from beginning to end.”

 

“You could have done better?”

 

“Maybe. Perhaps not.  But Cailan would most likely still be alive today if he’d have listened to me.  Maybe your Grey Wardens, too.”

 

“Just go to sleep, everyone,” the Warden said. “Last thing we need is more bickering.”

 

“Good idea, Warden,” Loghain said, and went to his tent and climbed in. Once everyone was settled down and quiet, the Warden slipped out of her tent and stealthily into Loghain’s.

 

“What are you doing here, Warden?” Loghain said immediately.

 

“You’re awake,” she said.

 

“You have a gift for stating the obvious. Now what are you doing here?”

 

“I just… this… forest is so… _creepy._ I’m scared.  Hold me.”

 

“I don’t find fear attractive, and I find lies even less so,” he said. “You’re just about as afraid as I am, Warden.”

 

“What do I have to say to get through to you?”

 

 _“Less_ would work better.”

 

“So if I quit hitting on you, you’d find me more attractive?”

 

“Couldn’t hurt.”

 

“But you still wouldn’t sleep with me.”

 

“Most likely, no.”

 

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?  I’m too ugly for you, right?”

 

He sighed. “I already told you you’re lovely.  What more do you want from me?”

 

“I’m in your tent at the edge of your bedroll in the middle of the night. You _know_ what I want.”

 

“But I don’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It is not my right to choose with whom I mate?”

 

“It was never _mine_ before.”

 

“Seems to me you did pretty well at choosing who you _didn’t_ mate with, at the least,” Loghain said.  “In any event, freedom of choice is laced with these little disappointments.  You have to get used to them.”

 

“Just tell me why you don’t want me. I’m a Grey Warden.  I can’t get pregnant.  I can’t hold a title so you can be sure I’m not after yours.  Sex without consequences.”

 

“There are other consequences, Warden. But those aren’t my reasons.  If I were to have a relationship at this late date, I should prefer it to be with a _woman,_ not a sex-crazed little girl.  Maker’s sake, you’re younger than my daughter.”

 

“So I’m too young for you? That’s your only reason?”

 

“That, and I don’t know you very well, yet you’re jumping down my throat with this whole ‘sex’ thing. I don’t find that attractive, either.”

 

“So the only way you’ll find me attractive is if I stop flirting with you and age about thirty years. Great.”

 

“There are other men you can flirt with. I really don’t understand why you would turn your attention to me in the first place.”

 

“Oh, who should I look at, then? Alistair, the whiner?”

 

“He’s an option. When he’s not looking daggers at me, he’s making puppy eyes at you.”

 

“Alistair’s not a _real_ man.  He has a lot of growing up left to do.”

 

“True. But then, so do you.”

 

“You know, you really are an asshole, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes. Yes, I am.  When you take honesty to its furthest extent, you generally are.”  The Warden crawled out of his tent and hustled back to her own in a huff.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the Dalish

The Warden was surly in the morning.  She was bright and cheerful with everyone else as usual, but refused to speak to Loghain and turned up her nose to him.  He knew he would probably have to find a way to apologize in order to make things run smoothly again.  He hadn’t done anything wrong exactly, but he supposed he had been a bit hard on her about it.

 

Before they broke camp he caught her away from the others.  She didn’t want to talk.  She tried to push past him back to camp, so he caught her by the shoulders and held her.  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

 

“Too bad, because I want to talk to you,” he said.  “I want to tell you I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said what I said last night.  I was unnecessarily harsh, as usual.  The truth is, your… ‘attentions’… _disturb_ me.  I don’t know how to react to them.  I don’t understand what a lovely young woman like you would want with an ugly old man like me.  So I lash out against them, but I should have handled it differently.”

 

She grinned.  “Does that mean I stand a chance?”

 

He shook his head.  “I didn’t say that, I just said that I should have shown more regard for your feelings.”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “Couslands never surrender, you know…”

 

“Oh?  I seem to recall the name _Elethia…”_

 

Her eyes widened and she gasped.  “Oh!  And I suppose _you_ would have held out against Calenhad, eh?”

 

“I don’t see why not.  I held out _numerous_ times against his however-many-times Great-Grandsons Maric and Cailan.  Granted, holding out against _Cailan_ wasn’t any great feat, ordinarily.”

 

“So Mac Tirs never, _ever_ surrender, right?”

 

“They never have yet.”

 

“Well, no matter what the Couslands themselves may or may not do, the Cousland Barbarian never… _ever_ … surrenders.”  She put her hands on his shoulders and rubbed herself against him.  He pushed her away fairly gently.

 

“My dear, I believe, if you search your feelings, you’ll find that you’re looking for less of a lover in me than a replacement father.”

 

_“What?”_

 

“Think about it for a moment and you’ll see.  Your parents are dead, you’re thrown headfirst into a frightening situation in which you must take leadership for the first time in your life.  You don’t want a lover, you want your father.”

 

She slapped him.  “What kind of relationship do you think I had with my father?” she said, eyes flashing.

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he said, not reacting to the slap.  “Come now, can you really look at me and say that you find _me_ attractive?  I’m two years older than your own father and I haven’t slept in a few _years.”_

 

She grinned again and ran her tongue across her lips.  “But you’re built like a Great Bear, and I want you to _maul_ me.”

 

He closed his eyes and clicked his tongue.  “You truly are a wretched harpy, aren’t you?” he said.

 

“Come on, there’s a _lot_ that’s attractive about you,” she said.  “You’ve got that rugged, ragged, _serious_ thing going on, and those eyes of yours give me the shivers.  Plus, you’re an actual _man_ , and that seems to be a rare quality these days.  I haven’t had the chance to sleep with an actual man in my entire debut.  Noblemen, common-born men, it doesn’t matter -- if they’re anywhere near my own age, they seem to be _nowhere near_ my own age.  Noblemen particularly.”

 

“That much, I can see.  But I don’t understand jumping straight from there to a fifty-four year old man.  There’s a _lot_ in between.  You can do a lot better.”

 

“Better than the greatest hero Ferelden has ever produced?  I don’t think so.”

 

“You certainly are stubborn.”

 

“Coming from you, I take that as a compliment,” she said brightly.

 

“Look.  Let’s just be… friends, all right?”

 

“Friends?  You would… be _friends_ with me?” she said, eyeing him cautiously.

 

“I suppose I would.”

 

She smiled.  “That seems like a good place to start.  Let’s be friends, then.”  She held out a hand to him and he shook it.

 

“No hard feelings, then, for locking you up in my dungeon?” he said, half-humorously.

 

“Oh no, I’ve got hard feelings.  But I’m willing to set them aside for the greater good.  And for getting wedged in under that shell of yours so I can win you for my own,” she said, still smiling brightly.

 

He drew in a deep breath and cleared his throat, but left the subject lie.  “We’d better get back to the others.  They’ll be wondering where we are by now, and making up lurid stories about us.”

 

“Not so lurid as the ones _I’m_ making up,” she said in a sing-song voice, and preceded him back to the camp.

 

They headed deeper into the Brecilian that day, until Loghain jumped off his horse around midday and checked the ground, squatting and seeming to sniff like a hunting dog checking a scent.  “Tracks,” he said at last.  “A few days old, but better than nothing.  They’re heading this way,” he said, with a nod of the head to the east.

 

“If the tracks are a few _days_ old, we’ll never catch up to them,” Alistair said.

 

“Possible, except for one thing: Dalish put down in one area and make _camp_ for a number of days at a time,” Loghain said.  “They might not do that at this time, what with the darkspawn and all, but these tracks are heading away from the darkspawn concentrations.  I think we’ve got a better than even chance of catching up with them.  Especially if we stop talking and start walking.”

 

“What if you don’t find any more tracks?  We’ll just head east randomly and miss them entirely,” Alistair said.

 

“We’ll find ‘em,” Loghain said.  “I’ve got their trail now, and we’ve got dogs.”

 

“Dogs with nothing to catch scent of,” Alistair said.

 

“Quiet, Serrah Negative.”

 

Alistair’s worries came to naught, as apparently Loghain’s hunting skills were as good as he claimed.  They kept finding signs of the Dalish passage, at least according to Loghain, and two days later Leliana asked how they would know they had found the Dalish themselves.

 

“I have heard they are very secretive in their campsites, almost like they are invisible,” she said.

 

“Well, I can’t speak to that, but we won’t find them anyway,” Loghain said.

 

“What?” Alistair said.  “After all this, you say now that we _won’t find them?”_

 

“We won’t.  They’ll find _us._ They’re probably watching right now.  Hopefully they’ll talk to us instead of simply filling us full of arrows.  The size of our group may well be working against us on that.”

 

“So they _are_ invisible,” Leliana said, and leaned forward in her saddle in excitement.

 

“Probably not,” Loghain said.  “They are, however, excellent woodsmen, which works out about the same.  If you really look close, you might see their eyes glitter, but they stay at a distance at first so that very thing doesn’t happen.  The first you know of them, you’re looking down the bolt of a _very large arrow_ pointed straight at your face.”

 

“Even when you’re as good a woodsman as you?” the Warden said.

 

“I don’t spend as much time in the wilderness as the Dalish do.  That said, it’s past time to be wary.  They’re definitely close by.”

 

“How do you know?” Alistair said.  “You just said you don’t know.”

 

“Because their tracks are fresh here, and are simply footprints, meaning that they’re probably camped somewhere nearby,” Loghain patiently explained.  “They’ve got to know we’re in the area by now.  They’ll do one of two things -- watch us, and probably try to drive us away, or they’ll leave the area themselves and try to lose us again.  The latter is unlikely as it will take them awhile to pack up and move.”

 

“If they’re such great woodsmen, they’ve probably known we’ve been tracking them for some time now,” Alistair said.

 

“What with the bickering and the constant bellyaching, we haven’t been particularly stealthy, that is true,” Loghain said.  “But I think they’ve had their own worries.  There’s a lot of other tracks around about, heading straight for them.  I think they may have been attacked by some sort of large animal I am unfamiliar with.  They’re likely to be more edgy than normal, even.”

 

“What kind of large animal?” Sten said, urging his horse forward.  Loghain gave him a look.

 

“As I already said, I am _uncertain._ By its tracks, however, it appears to be some sort of giant wolf-like creature.  Strange, though.  The tracks left by the hind paws are far more distinct than those left by the front paws, as though they were tracking about only on their hindlegs, maybe using their forelegs only for balance, or to gain a bit more speed and traction.”

 

The Warden looked at him wide-eyed.  “Do you think it could have been… _werewolves?”_ she asked.  “I remember learning of the lycanthrope plagues during my studies…”

 

“That was a long time ago.  I haven’t heard tell of any werewolf problems since then, but if any place still _had_ werewolves, I suppose it would be the Brecilian,” Loghain said.  “Why the Dalish would suddenly start having troubles with them after so long I don’t know, but perhaps it’s part of the general upset of the forest itself.  Maybe restless spirits possessed a pack of wolves and transformed them, and they found the Dalish by accident, just looking for _any_ prey.”

 

“Not by accident,” a new voice said.  Loghain turned his head slowly to look at the very large bow pointed directly at him and nodded his head calmly.  “They came for us deliberately.  You know much, but not enough, shemlen.  I believe I recognize you -- you are the big one that stands as the leader of the small village we sometimes trade in to the south of here, are you not?”

 

“Gwaren.  Yes,” Loghain said.

 

The woman holding the bow nodded her head but did not lessen the tension on her bowstring.  “Why do you come here now looking for us, leading this pack of warriors?  We have never done anything to you and yours.”

 

“We come in escort to a pair of Grey Wardens -- all the Grey Wardens Ferelden now boasts.  They wish to speak to your people.  The rest of us are just along to make sure they survive the trip.”

 

The tension on the bowstring relaxed a fraction.  “You don’t put much faith in your Grey Wardens,” she said.

 

“We have a long journey to go from here,” Loghain said, “and a lot of people just up and volunteered to come along.”

 

She lowered the bow and gestured to her fellow hunters around them.  “Very well.  I will take you to our Keeper so that your so-called ‘Wardens’ may speak with him themselves, but only because you have treated us fairly up until now.  If you are playing us, we will kill you faster than you can think.  We have no time for shemlen games.”

 

“Real live Dalish,” Shianni whispered to Tabris as they were led to the hidden camp.  “You know, I half believed they were just a legend.”

 

“Me too,” he said.  “Not very friendly, though, are they?”

 

“It would be different if we weren’t here with so many humans, I’d bet.”

 

The Dalish woman led them into the camp and straight to a fairly tall elven man in flowing robes.  He was bald-headed and he carried a staff.  At the sight of him, Loghain seemed to deflate somehow.  “Ah,” he said.  “Zathrien.  Long time no see.”

 

“Loghain Mac Tir,” Zathrien said in return.  It sounded less like a greeting than an accusation.  “Why have you brought these people here, Mythra?”

 

“They claim to have among their number two Grey Wardens who wish to speak with you, Keeper,” the Dalish woman said, inclining her head to her Keeper.  “I thought I had best to leave the matter in your hands.”

 

“Grey Wardens?  Then you have done well.  Ma serannas, Mythra.  I will take it from here.”

 

Mythra bowed, and she and the hunters left, with the party’s horses.  Zathrien turned back to the humans and their elven companions.  “Which of you are the Grey Wardens?” he said.

 

Elilia stepped forward, dragging Alistair with her.  “We are,” she said.  She executed a formal bow.  Zathrien nodded politely.

 

“I suppose then you have come to warn us of the darkspawn massing to the south.  We are already aware of it.  Indeed, we would have left for the north already, except that we have had… problems of our own.”

 

“We know.  Our friend Loghain saw the tracks.  You’ve been attacked by animals.”

 

“By _monsters,”_ Zathrien said.  “Werewolves, to be precise.  We’ve always known this forest harbored their ilk, but they’ve always left our caravans alone.  Now they’ve attacked, and many of our hunters were slain or injured.  Many were turned, and had to be killed.  Many more are ill, just awaiting the curse to show.  As you can see, we may not be able to stand by the ancient treaty we signed with your Order.”

 

“What can be done for your people?” the Warden asked, all concern and all genuine.  Loghain saw this and sighed, knowing it would be this way all along the journey -- jumping through every hoop they were presented with, because as much as he knew Zathrien hated humans, he knew also that Zathrien would have a plan to save his people, and he wouldn’t pass up their assistance.  No one else would, either.

 

“I have sent a group of hunters into the forest to retrieve the heart of a great wolf, Witherfang, the leader of the werewolves,” Zathrien said.  “It is from him that this curse was brought.  It from his heart that the cure can be derived.  However… it has been some time, and we have had no word from them.”

 

“Well, _we_ can find this Witherfang, can’t we?” the Warden said, looking around earnestly at her companions.  “We’re _more_ than strong enough to take on werewolves.”

 

“I assure you, Warden, werewolves are a dangerous foe,” Zathrien said.  “The forest itself is dangerous enough, and nearest their lair, it is quite angry.”

 

“I think we should listen to the man,” Alistair said.  “Werewolves are scary, and they pass that scariness on when they bite or claw.  Sounds like something we should really stay away from, and these elves really aren’t in any condition to fight darkspawn.”

 

“Come on, everyone, this is a good test for us!” the Warden said.  “If we can take care of werewolves, we can handle anything!  Darkspawn will be a cinch!  The Archdemon had better look out!”

 

Loghain sighed again.  “If this is what you want to do, Warden, then we’ll follow you.”

 

“You, taking orders, Loghain?  This is new,” Zathrien said, with a thin, slightly unpleasant smile and a raised eyebrow.

 

“It’s her expedition,” Loghain said.  “I’m merely along for the ride.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elder Tree, and troubles with Zathrien

“I’ve got a man down, here,” Elilia said.  She was over the hill a short distance hunting for the tracks of the werewolves that ran from them after issuing a warning in plain King’s Tongue not to pursue further when she somehow managed to persuade them not to attack.  The “savage beasts,” it seemed, were somehow anything but.  “One of the Dalish.”

 

Hawke and Bethany hurried to her side.  “He’s badly injured, and something’s in his blood.  I don’t think it’s the Blight, but it works to about the same end,” Bethany said.  “Whatever it is, I don’t think I can do anything about it.”

 

“Nor I,” Hawke said.  “His best chance of survival is if we get him back to his people.”

 

Loghain came up beside them and casually gathered the fallen hunter into his arms.  “Perhaps Zathrien will be so happy to see one of his young hunters restored to him that he will condescend to explain exactly why he did not tell us that the sentient werewolves seem to be seeking _revenge_ against his clan for something.  But I doubt it.  Come on.”

 

The hunter Mythra met them at the edge of camp.  “We saw you bringing one of our missing hunters with you.  Ah!  Deygan!  Thank you, shemlen, for bringing him back to us.  We will take him to our healers immediately.  We are in your debt.”

 

“We’d like to speak to Zathrien, if we may,” Loghain said.  “We have some questions.”

 

“I am… _sure_ he will allow it,” Mythra said.  “Follow me.”

 

“Yes, my friends?” the Keeper said as they approached.

 

Loghain launched right into it.  “Why didn’t you tell us that the werewolves are sentient?”

 

Zathrien was momentarily taken aback, but rallied quickly.  “They are far from sentient, Teyrn Loghain.”

 

“They spoke to _us.”_

 

“Speech doesn’t mean sentience.  You humans have a pet bird you teach to repeat a few words.  I believe you call it a ‘parrot.’  It’s still merely a beast, is it not?”

 

“That’s debatable.  And these creatures weren’t merely ‘repeating.’  They were speaking and reasoning.  They backed off when the Warden persuaded them to with a silver tongue.  A _beast_ doesn’t do that.  And they seem to hold a grudge with your Clan.”

 

“Who knows what goes on in such a savage brain?” Zathrien said.  “Perhaps they have some hatred against elves in general, and took it out on our clan.”

 

“Ha.  Perhaps.”

 

“I think the best and most pertinent question, Teyrn Loghain, is will you continue to help us, or will you walk away?” Zathrien said.

 

Loghain sighed.  He looked at the Warden.  The Warden looked back and nodded.  “We will help,” he said.

 

Zathrien bowed slightly.  “Thank you.”

 

“You’d better not be playing us for fools, though,” Loghain said.  He led the way back into the forest with his shoulders hunched up beneath his armor.

 

Once out of the camp, he stopped and turned to the Warden.  “I’m sorry I took command back there.  Zathrien pisses me off more than considerably.”

 

“I’ve noticed the tension.  How do you even know him?” she asked.

 

“There are a number of Dalish clans that pass close to Gwaren and come into the village to trade with us.  They’re all quite peaceful, usually a little bit anxious.  Zathrien’s clan comes in looking for trouble.  I give word to the people of the village not to reciprocate, but someday my word won’t be enough to told them back.  I’ve gone to Zathrien in the interests of peace a number of times but he’s not interested in talking.  I know the belligerence of his people stems from him.  The funny thing is, going through the records left by the Teyrns of Gwaren who came before me, apparently Zathrien’s been causing trouble for a long time.  A _very_ long time.  Something on the order of centuries.  My predecessors were apparently too afraid of him to try to do anything about him.”

 

“Are _you_ too afraid?” Alistair asked.

 

“He hasn’t done anything to me bad enough to make me thing that I _should_ do anything about him -- yet.  But I do wonder how it is that he seems to have been around for such a _very_ long time.”

 

“Maybe he comes from a long line of Keepers named Zathrien,” Bethany said.

 

“Yeah.  Maybe,” Loghain said.  He sounded distinctly unconvinced.  “Maybe we’d better get moving.  The sooner this is done the sooner we can leave.”

 

They continued back through the forest and the Warden found a fallen tree from which some Ironbark had fallen.  She had already spoken to the crafts master of the clan about Ironbark, and she gathered it and put it in her pack for him despite Loghain’s eye roll.  They followed the next path, trying to be thorough in their search for the missing hunters, and were attacked by sylvans.  At the end of the path stood a tall white sylvan.  Instead of attacking, it spoke to them.

 

“What manner of beast be thee, that comes before this elder tree?”

 

Eyes popped.  Loghain’s jaw dropped.  “It’s real?  I never thought it was real.  Just drunken lumberjacks telling tales.”

 

“Tales about a… talking tree?” Hawke asked.

 

“Tales about something they called the ‘Grand Oak.’  A… ‘poetic’ tree.”

 

“That is my name, in passing fame,” the tree said, gesticulating with a grasping branch hand.  “Who be thee, who knowest me?”

 

“Oh, we’re just a… band of humans and elves,” Loghain said, scratching at his neck.

 

“Cooperation?  Not often seen.  Humans often treat elves mean.  Elves then oft reciprocate.  Hate most oft engenders hate.”

 

Hawke leaned in close to Bethany.  “What sort of spirit would make a rhyming tree?” she asked.

 

“I hesitate to even dream.”

 

“I’m kind of diggin’ it,” Zevon said.  “A little hackneyed, but I wish _I_ could rhyme things so easily.”

 

“Hackneyed, he says? Foresooth, says I!  This cruel talk has made me cry!” the tree said, and covered its “face” with its hand.

 

“Zevon, don’t make the spirit-tree angry,” Loghain said.  “The way it talks doesn’t hurt anything, and it hasn’t been aggressive like the other sylvans thus far.”

 

“I have no wish to harm thy clutch, and unless thou thinkst it far too much, perhaps it is not much too soon for me to ask of you a boon?” the tree asked.

 

“What do you want?” the Warden asked.

 

“All that I have on this earth is my seed.  A man from the east did an evil deed.  Late in the night did he steal in and creep and take my seed while alone did I sleep.”

 

“You want us to… go find this man, then?  And get back your seed?  An acorn, I would presume?” the Warden said.

 

“Indeed.  My seed.  And for this deed, I will fulfill for you a need.  You pass beneath the forest bough, but you do not quite know how.  I can help you safely through.  The forest will open itself to you.”

 

Loghain and the Warden looked at each other.  “Sounds like a good deal, get one little acorn back from one man in exchange for safe passage through these woods,” the Warden said.

 

Loghain shrugged.  “Now we’re running errands for trees.  I’m sensing a pattern here, Warden.”


	5. Chapter Five

They stopped to treat their wounds and catch their breath after the battle with the ogres, and the sudden southerly breeze that blew in to cool their sweaty, overheated faces was welcome.

 

“Well, that was an odd series of odors,” Loghain said.  “Urine, wood moss, rotting meat.  Unless I miss my guess, we’re somewhere close to our woodland hermit’s lair.”

 

“How can you tell that just by smelling something?” Aveline asked.  “I didn’t smell _anything.”_

 

“Was I the only one inhaling, then?  Seemed pretty pervasive to me.  Really, I can still smell it.”

 

“All I smell is the outdoors,” Shianni said.

 

“I can smell it,” Zevon said.  “I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, or tell what it is, but it’s pretty nasty, all right.”

 

Loghain pointed south.  “It came up from there, on the breeze.  That’s where our hermit is camping, or I’m not a hunter.”

 

“How do you know it’s not just the den of another bear or something like that?” the Warden asked.

 

“Because I smell a campfire, too.  Bears don’t light campfires, and they don’t cook meat.  Neither do darkspawn, as far as I know -- but you’re the warden.  Perhaps you know better.”

 

“Actually I don’t.  But I’ve never known them to make camp, actually.”

 

“Come on, quietly now.  We don’t know what to expect from this guy.”

 

“We’ve kind of got him outnumbered, Ser,” Aveline said.

 

“Never underestimate an unknown enemy, Lieutenant.  I’ve met people I wouldn’t want to take a group this small up against, and hermit or no, he may have unknown allies.”

 

They proceeded on cautiously, as Loghain advised.  Beyond a pair of Tevinter-style pillars holding up nothing at all, they found a small encampment.  It appeared to be untended for the time being, but the fire, some distance from the rest of the camp, had been burning recently.  This close, the smell of piss and rotting meat was obvious to every nose.

 

“Well, he’s not here,” the Warden said.  “Do you think we can still find the acorn without him?  It is… just an acorn, not something he’s likely to think of as some great treasure.  He might not ever even notice it was missing if we find it.”

 

“He went through an awful lot of trouble to take it,” Loghain said.  “Still, if he has a hidey-hole for treasures, I’d expect it would be in that hollow stump.  But it might be trapped.”

 

“I can try for it,” Tabris said.

 

“Let me,” Zevon said.  “I have some experience with booby traps.”  He looked into the knothole on the side of the stump and reached his thin hand inside.  He withdrew a shining golden acorn, and a man appeared on the edge of the camp from thin air.

 

“Robbers!  Robbers!  That’s _private property,_ that is!  Give it back!  Give it back now!” the hermit said, banging his staff on the ground.

 

“Tell you what, I’ll trade you for it,” Loghain said.  The man paused.

 

“What have you got to trade?” he said, wary and backing away a step.

 

Loghain dug in his pack for a moment and came up with a book.  “This.  One first edition of _An Antivan Crow in Emperor Florian’s Court._  Well-read but still holding together.”

 

The hermit’s eyes widened with an avaricious gleam.  “Mmm… that would make for good reading by moonlight… or decent paper for wiping…  It’s a deal.  Give it to me!”

 

“Here you go,” Loghain said, and handed it over.  The hermit snatched it out of his hands and disappeared again.

 

“General, why did you do that?” Aveline said.

 

“Why did I do what?”

 

 _“Bargain_ with him.  We could have simply killed him and taken the acorn.  Now he can go back and take the bloody acorn from the Grand Oak again, and you lost your book to him as well!”

 

“Why should I care?  I’ve read that book a dozen times, and this feud between man and tree is nothing to me.  Fighting isn’t the only solution to every problem, Lieutenant,” Loghain said.  “Now we can take the acorn back to the tree and hopefully cement our deal, get through the forest to wherever the werewolves are hiding, find this Witherfang, and save the elves so they can join with us to fight the darkspawn.  I don’t have any other purpose here.  I suggest we get moving with that purpose so we don’t die of severe inaction, traipsing all over this thrice-blasted forest for everybody and his froggin’ _sycamore.”_

 

The Warden chuckled.  “Not much of a Samaritan, are you, Teyrn Loghain?”

 

“Our nation -- and Thedas in general -- doesn’t have time for random acts of kindness right now.  But… it is your show, Warden.  For now.”

 

“Really?  It hasn’t seemed much like it thus far.”

 

“Mmph.  I… I guess I’m kind of used to being in charge.  Sorry.”

 

“It’s all right.  I appreciate your sense of organization and all your ideas.”

 

“Back to the Grand Oak, then?” he said.

 

“Lead the way, Master of Tactics,” she said.  They followed the path back to the great white sylvan, who was overjoyed to receive its acorn, and gave them in return a branch it claimed would help them pass safely through the most guarded areas of the forest.  Morrigan said it was a staff of great magic.  The Warden gave it to Bethany, whose staff was the plainest and least powerful of all.  They proceeded back to the eastern forest, following the werewolf tracks.  They came to a place where thick mist shrouded the way forward.

 

Loghain and Elilia were the first through, and the first to end up right back where they started, by the magic of the forest.  “Well, that worked well,” Loghain said.  “Is this what the Grand Oak meant, then?  It’s branch didn’t seem to work for us.”

 

“Bethany didn’t go through with us,” the Warden said.  “I think we’d better all go through in a tight clutch, with Bethany and her new staff in the middle.”

 

“Sound plan.  You’re not totally without tactical skills yourself, youngling,” Loghain said.

 

“You could stop condescending to me.”

 

“Not in the foreseeable future, my dear.  You have to _earn_ my respect.”

 

They proceeded through the mist as planned, and found their way unblocked by whatever magic the mist possessed.  Loghain clapped the Warden on the shoulder.  “A fine idea, my girl.  You got us through the mist.  More ideas like that, and I won’t feel the need to take over anymore.”

 

“Going to make me your protégé?” she asked.

 

“Would it be such a bad thing if you learned something from this?” he said.

 

She hesitated.  “I suppose not.”

 

He clapped her on the shoulder again.  “That’s a good girl.  Forward march, eh?  Off we go.”

 

It wasn’t far from there to the ruin where the werewolves were apparently bivouacked.  Swiftrunner, the leader of the werewolf gang, met them there with some of his followers.

 

“The forest has not been vigilant!  Come, my brothers!  Attack!” he cried.

 

The party met their attack with force of their own.  The werewolves were powerful, but the group was able to fend off their teeth and claws with magic and their blades.  Loghain drew black his sword and struck a hard blow at Swiftrunner himself that knocked the creature backwards.  He rushed in for the kill, but a giant white wolf bounded in from nowhere and jumped him, bowling him over.  The wolf backed off, growling, protecting the werewolves, and then they all turned and ran for the ruins.

 

“We’ve got them cornered now,” the Warden said.

 

“Don’t count on it,” Loghain said.  “We’ve no idea how extensive these ruins are.”

 

“There might be treasure,” the Warden said, with a gleaming grin.

 

“Now is not the time to search for it.  Let’s get in there and _find those wolves._ I want this wrapped up before the sun sets.  We’ve already spent too much time at this nonsense.”

 

“Oo, so impatient.  That’s really very unhealthy, you know,” the Warden said.

 

_“Get moving.”_

 

They headed into the ruins and were promptly attacked by a pair of werewolves that came running up from a side corridor.  After dealing with them, they followed that corridor down a long flight of stairs to a locked and barricaded door.

 

“Well, here’s probably where they are, but we’re not getting in this way,” the Warden said.  “We’ll have to find an alternate route.”

 

“Like shit we will.  Come on.  That sylvan we killed back there will make a lovely siege weapon,” Loghain said.

 

“Subtle.  I like it,” the Warden said, with only a _hint_ of sarcasm.

 

“Do you want subtlety or do you want Witherfang?” Loghain asked.  “There may not _be_ another way ‘round.  While we’re off searching, it could escape.”

 

“It may not be down there at all,” the Warden argued.

 

“Well, we’ll find out.  It’ll be quicker than taking the long route.”

 

They went back to the small clearing just past the mist where four sylvans had attacked and hauled the largest one back to the ruin with them to use as a battering ram.  In a few strong hit’s they had the door open.  Beyond, they found a large room disrupted by the roots of an enormous tree.  The werewolves were there, ready to fight, but a strange, naked, pale-skinned woman with roots twining up her legs held them back with a raised hand.

 

“Peace, Swiftrunner,” she said.  Her voice echoed strangely.  “They do not understand.  If we speak to them, perhaps they will not fight us.”

 

“Grrr, but my lady, they broke down the door.  They come to kill you!  They cannot be trusted!” Swiftrunner said.

 

“There are things they do not know,” the woman said.  “Perhaps they can yet be reasoned with.  Would you see more of your brothers and sisters killed?”

 

Swiftrunner stood down.  “No, my lady.  Anything but that.”

 

The lady addressed the group.  “Will you parley?” she said.

 

Loghain gave Elilia a nudge.  “You got them to stand down at the bridge with your silver tongue, Warden.  If they want to speak now, you do our side of the talking.”

 

“You trust them just to talk?”

 

“Not every battle needs to be fought with swords,” Loghain said.  “Sometimes they can be won with words.”

 

“You think they’re going to _hand_ us the heart of Witherfang?” she said.

 

“Doubtful.  But let us hear what they have to say nevertheless.”

 

“I didn’t expect you to be the reasonable type.  I like this side of you.  All right.  We’ll parley.”  The Warden turned to the lady and stepped forward with her hands raised in supplication.  “Let us speak together,” she said.  “There is no need for further bloodshed.”

 

“I thank you, humans,” the lady said.  “I speak for the werewolves of the Brecilian Forest.  They call me the Lady of the Forest.  I know you come for Witherfang, but you will never find him unless I allow it.  I will never allow it until you know the truth about certain things on which you have been lead astray.”

 

“I rather thought there may have been some things we did not know,” the Warden said.  “Zathrien seemed rather shifty to me about a lot of things, particularly about your friends’ sentience and their apparent grudge against his clan.  All right, speak on, my Lady.  Enlighten us.  Tell us your side of the story.”

 

A glimmer lit the Lady’s fully black eyes.  “It begins long, long ago.  There was… a great tragedy.  A crime, inflicted against Zathrien’s children.  By humans.”

 

“How long ago exactly?” Loghain asked.

 

“Centuries,” the Lady said.  “More than long enough for everyone in the area, elves and humans, to forget all about it… except for Zathrien, of course.  And for me.  And for these poor, cursed creatures, doomed forever to pay for a crime they did not commit.”

 

“Tell on,” the Warden said.

 

“There was a village at the forest’s edge, the edge there was then before the forest overtook the village,” the Lady said.  “A human village.  The Dalish were new, and human hatred of them was fresh.  Zathrien camped his clan near the forest’s edge, not too close to the village.  He thought they would be safe enough where they were.  He thought the forest would protect them.  He was wrong.”

 

“Does this have to be so theatrical?” Loghain said.  “Can we have the condensed version?”

 

The Lady smiled and nodded.  “Very well.  Suffice to say, Zathrien’s two children, a son and a daughter, went out hunting and were found by men of the village.  The boy was beaten and killed.  The girl was raped and left for dead.  Zathrien found her and saved her, but she killed herself when she later discovered that she was with child.  Zathrien… bound a dreadful spirit of the forest to the body of a great wolf and set it among the humans to spread the curse of the werewolf.  The perpetrators of those long-ago crimes have long paid for their sins, but these… are their descendants, and are quite innocent.  I have helped them to regain something of their sense of humanity, and now they wish only for this dread curse to lifted from their shoulders.  Only Zathrien himself can do this.  It is bound to his life, but his death would not end it.  He must do it willingly.  Will you help us?  Will you bring him here and convince him to save us from this curse we have lived with for too many generations?  I cannot stave off their bestial natures forever.”

 

A strange expression screwed up the Warden’s face.  Connivance, perhaps.  “That might be a hard sell.  I think I’ve got a better idea.  Come back to the camp with us, and kill the elves.”

 

“Hrraaghhh I like this idea,” Swiftrunner said.

 

Loghain clamped his hand around the Warden’s mouth.  “It would avail you nothing, however.  Kill his people and Zathrien would never end your curse.  You’d have to kill him, and then you’re done for, right?  You said it yourself, my Lady.”

 

“This is true.  Zathrien’s death would mean the death of all our hopes,” she said.

 

“Then stay here.  Let us find him, and let us put to him this hard sell.  We may have to use force, but if we _limit_ ourselves, we can bring him to surrender.”

 

Elilia managed to wrestle his hand from her mouth.  “What are you doing?” she whispered.  “Think about this!  We could have _werewolves_ fighting darkspawn at our side instead of elves!”

 

“And then they lose their minds later on like the Lady said and start making more werewolves from our people until we have another Lycanthrope Plague,” Loghain said.  “No, we have to save these people.  They are _people,_ you realize, not just clever beasts.  The elves, too, are _people,_ and they have nothing to do with Zathrien’s curse.  It seems to me if Zathrien breaks the curse on these werewolves, he breaks the curse on his people as well.  Two peoples saved at one cost, and then the elves fight for us.  Where is the loss, I ask you?”

 

“But --”

 

“What is wrong with you?  You jump all over yourself to help everyone and his brother, and then you try to throw a clan of Dalish to werewolves?  You’re a sick woman, Warden,” Loghain said.

 

“Well, I… it’s not _that,_ I just… the werewolves would make great allies, you have to see that,” she said.

 

“I do, but have you heard this one?  ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’  Particularly when it means it means standing for what is right… and saving the nation from the spread of a dreadful curse.  _Particularly_ the latter.”

 

“I hate to say it, Eli,” Alistair said, and it sounded very much as though he did, “but Loghain is right.  We cannot betray the elves in order to take the werewolves.”

 

“All right, all right, I see it.  Don’t hog pile me,” she said.  “We’ll get Zathrien and somehow convince him to break the curse for everyone.”

 

“Please.  We beseech you,” the Lady said.  “Our lives and our sanity depend upon your success.”


	6. Chapter Six

Zathrien was waiting for them in the main chamber of the ruins above.  Neither Loghain nor the Warden was any too surprised to see him there.

 

“You return, my friends,” he said.  “Do you have the heart?”

 

“Not yet, no,” Elilia said.

 

“Then why are you leaving?” Zathrien said, a dark cloud settling over his features.

 

“We came to find you,” Elilia said.  “Can’t say we’re surprised to find you here.  We… know a little something more than we did when we set out.  About where this curse comes from.”

 

“It comes from Witherfang, like I told you.”

 

“It comes from you,” Elilia said.  “You’re the one who originated it.  You’re the one who can break it.  For everyone, your people and the werewolves, too.”

 

“What you should ask is, do they deserve to be saved from the curse that afflicts them?  Did they tell you that they brought it upon themselves?” Zathrien said.

 

“Actually, they told us exactly what they did.  They also told us that was generations ago.  The werewolves who live here now are blameless.  Your revenge is spent.”

 

“My revenge will _never_ be spent,” Zathrien said.  “Those men were monsters to begin with -- my curse had nothing to do with making them so.  And my revenge will never be complete until the last one lies dead and dust.”

 

“It’s your own people falling to this curse now, Zathrien,” Loghain said.  “Will you let that continue for your revenge?”

 

“Bring me the heart of Witherfang and they will be saved,” Zathrien said.

 

“We can’t let you save just the ones you choose and condemn all the rest of the world to this curse,” Loghain said.

 

“Ha.  I didn’t expect the likes of _you_ to understand, Loghain.”

 

“I understand _very_ well.  It may be that no one understands the flavor of revenge better.  But your revenge is consuming you and all that you hold dear.  It’s time for it to end, Zathrien.  Before it destroys you _and_ your people.”

 

“Look, Zathrien, the Lady of the Forest just wants to talk with you.  Will you do that much?” Elilia said.  “Just talk to her.”

 

“And what if it is not _talk_ that they wish?  What if this is a _trap_ they are laying?  Will you protect me?” Zathrien demanded.

 

“Of course we will,” Elilia said.  “But I really don’t think that’s what they want.”

 

Zathrien straightened the collar of his robes.  “Very well.  I will go with you, if you will promise your protection, and I will listen to their ‘talk,’ though I see little point to it.”

 

They led the way down to where the Lady and the werewolves awaited them.  The reception was not a friendly one -- when they saw Zathrien, the werewolves could barely restrain themselves.  “Peace, my people,” the Lady said.  “We cannot expect him to give us his ear if we do not bring our message to him in peace.”

 

“Rrrr, you are correct, My Lady,” Swiftrunner said, standing down.

 

The Lady stepped forward.  “I welcome you, Zathrien.  Long have we wished for this meeting.  Long have we sent our emissaries to entreat you.”

 

“Well I am here now.  I suggest you speak,” Zathrien said, drawing himself up tall.  “I don’t promise that it will avail you anything.”

 

The Lady nodded slowly.  “You already know what we want.  We want to be free.  Free of this curse that binds us to the savagery of our bestial natures.  Let us go at long, long last.  Surely your revenge has spent itself.”

 

“Never,” Zathrien said.

 

“But why not?” the Lady said.  “Is because of your everlasting anger, or is there another reason why you hesitate?”

 

“What do you mean?” Elilia said.

 

“As I told you, good Warden, the curse is bound to Zathrien’s life, though it would not end with his death.  However, it has kept him alive through all these many centuries.  It will continue to keep him alive for as long as it is held.  Zathrien’s people believe he has rediscovered the immortality of his ancestors.  In truth, it is blood magic that keeps him alive beyond his days,” the Lady said.

 

“I suspected as much,” Elilia said.  “Zathrien, is there no extent to which you will not go for your revenge?”

 

“What would you have done if it was _your_ son?  If was _your_ daughter?” Zathrien snapped.

 

“I’d probably do everything in my ability to get the bastards back,” Loghain said.  “But there comes a time when enough is too much, and I think perhaps we’ve reached that point, don’t you?  It’s your own people suffering now, Zathrien.  And I won’t let anyone else suffer for your revenge, either.  End this.  _Now.”_

 

“I don’t think you have the power to make me, Loghain Mac Tir,” Zathrien said, raising his staff.

 

Loghain drew his sword.  “You have magic, Zathrien, but I’ve fought others of your kind and you don’t frighten me.”

 

“I will bring you to fear,” Zathrien said, and brought the smaller trees to life with spirits inside them.  The Lady of the Forest turned into Witherfang and tried to attack with her wolves but Zathrien cast a spell of mass paralysis upon them all.

 

“Hold your punches, try not to kill him!” Loghain said as he jumped into the fray.

 

“Him?  What about _us?”_ Shianni asked as she knocked an arrow and danced away from the sweeping branches of a sylvan.

 

“Just hit him and hit him good,” Loghain said.  “Keep yourself out of his way!”

 

The battle was difficult with the trees to contend with and trying to keep Zathrien alive, but even with his powerful magic, tempered by many centuries’ practice, Zathrien was outmatched and overwhelmed.  Finally he dropped his staff and fell to his knees.

 

“No!  No no, no more!  I cannot defeat you,” Zathrien said.  The Lady of the Forest, released from the spell that held her and the werewolves, walked up to them.  “Perhaps it is as you say, Spirit.  Perhaps I have lived… too long, stewing in my hatred.  Perhaps it is time for all of it to end.  Are you prepared for that, Spirit?  You know that your life will end as well as mine.”

 

“Zatrien, you created me.  And in this life I have learned of many wonderful things -- joy, love, comradeship.  Yet of all things, what I desire most is an _end.”_

 

“You shame me, Spirit.  This _has_ gone on too long,” Zathrien said.  He stood up and took a knife from his belt.  “I will break the curse.”

 

The Lady said her goodbyes to her people.  Zathrien gave her that time.  Then he sliced the palm of his hand and let the blood flow.  A brilliant light rose up around him, and then he and the Lady both slumped to the ground.  The Lady disappeared entirely.  Zathrien lay dead.  The werewolves were no more.  They stood instead as humans, naked as the day and stunned.

 

“It worked!  It _worked!_ Brothers and sisters, we are _free!”_ the one once known as Swiftrunner cried.  He looked at his human hands and his naked body with his eerily pale eyes, eyes not too different from Loghain’s eerily pale eyes.  “But what do we do now?  We cannot walk among humans as we are.  We will have to steal clothing from somewhere before we can try and find a place for ourselves.”

 

“We should have some extra, but that’s back at our encampment, which is at the Dalish camp,” Loghain said.  “You might not want to go there yourselves.  There may be bad blood remaining after your attack.  They don’t know the whole story with Zathrien’s initial curse on your ancestors and… might side with him anyway.  If you’ll stay put, we can bring some back here.  Then you can follow us on to Gwaren, which is the kind of town where people who have lived all their lives as wild wolves can probably fit in fairly well.  You can stay at the Keep until you find work and housing for yourselves, like the rest of the refugees there.”

 

“Do you really think we could make real lives for ourselves in this Gwaren?” Swiftrunner asked.

 

“If you work hard, apply yourselves, you’ve got as good a chance as anyone.  Gwareners are a strange lot.  They won’t look down on you any more than they will on anyone from ‘Away.’  Less so, perhaps.  They’ll understand you better.  You’re native Brecilianers.”

 

“We are already forever in your debt, humans… brothers and sisters,” Swiftrunner said.  “There is nothing we can ever do to repay you.”

 

“Repayment isn’t necessary.  We did what was right.” Elilia said.

 

“You wanted us to fight the darkspawn with you,” Swiftrunner said.  “We might not be as effective now, but we can still fight.”

 

“You’ve never fought with weapons before, Swiftrunner.  Perhaps it’s best if you just take the time to set your lives straight now that you’ve entered this new phase of them.  It’s going to take some time,” Loghain said.  “We’d better get back to the elves and set things straight with them.”

 

“We should take Zathrien’s body back to them,” Elilia said.

 

“And just how do we explain the beating he took?” Loghain said.  “I think we should leave him here and give them some song and dance.  Perhaps he conveniently vanished, like the Lady.”

 

“Don’t you think they’ll find him?” Elilia said.

 

“Not if the forest keeps them out of the ruins like it tried to keep us out.”

 

“So we just leave him here to rot?  That doesn’t seem right,” Alistair said.

 

“You’d rather face the mess we’ll create when we tell the elves we beat their beloved immortal Keeper into submission?” Loghain said.  “I think that will be a good way to lose their cooperation, treaty or no, and we may not even get out of here alive.”

 

“I think he’s right,” Elilia said.  “We’ll have to trust the forest to keep the secret for us.”

 

They returned to the camp, and Zathrien’s First, a mage named Lanaya, met them.  She already knew, or suspected at the least, that Zathrien was dead.  She said that she could sense it when it happened.  Elilia spun a smooth tale about how Zathrien died a hero, in a ritual to save all the afflicted, and turned to dust after the long years of unnatural existence.  She was an excellent liar, Loghain had to admit it, and he admired that about her even as he knew to be watchful of it.

 

“I am the Keeper of this clan, now,” Lanaya said.  “We will join you in your fight against the Darkspawn.  We will send emissaries to the other clans that should be in this nation.  I cannot promise that all will join, but we will be as persuasive as possible, Wardens.  Thank you for saving our people.”

 

The Warden party returned to their things and their horses and made ready to leave.  “Let’s get the were-people what clothing we can get them and bring them to Gwaren as quickly as possible,” Loghain said.  “I can’t be done with this forest fast enough.  I feel like I’ve spent _years_ here.”


End file.
